“Can’t you just make a statement or something, and then the reporters will go away?” Reece said, with more whine than intended.
“I was waiting until my heartburn medication kicks in, like I do when I have to call about my student loans.” Something soft hit Reece in the face. “Put that on.”
“What—”
Something hard followed. “And these.”
“But—”
“Do you have a hat?”
Reece pulled the soft thing off his head and held it up: a navy blazer a size too big. “Is thisyours?”
Liam pointed. “Those are too.”
Reece looked down to see a pair of plastic glasses frames in his lap. He picked them up and found them heavier than expected. He put them on and made a face. “I can’t see.”
“It’s two blocks; you’ll live.” Liam pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “Any chance you’ll take off the gloves?”
Reece rolled his eyes. He pulled off the glasses and tossed the lot on the passenger seat. “No.”
“Reece—”
“I’m not taking off my gloves. I’m not wearing a disguise and I won’t use fake names online. Empaths scare people, and if I show them I’m willing to hide what I am, I’ll make their fear worse.”
Several expressions crossed Liam’s face, from distress to grudging respect before finally settling on resignation. “Fine. But not one word out of you. I mean it, Reece.”
“Why are you so tense?” Reece complained, as he climbed out of the car.
“I thought you needed touch for the paranormal shit.”
Reece stiffened, but Liam was shutting Reece’s door, apparently unconcerned that an empath had picked up on his emotions. “I didn’t read you,” Reece said anyway. “Anyone could see you’re on edge. There’s no point stressing; the press always hates me.”
“This time is different.” Liam grabbed Reece’s sleeve and pulled him into a walk. “This isn’t actually about my career, all right? The city is tense and no one likes empaths this morning. So please, for once just shut your mouth, and keep it shut until I get you into HQ.”
The closer they got, the bigger the press of reporters seemed, and despite his bravado Reece’s stomach began to hurt from nerves. He tried to keep his eyes on Liam’s shoes, which were really too nice for such a gross winter day.
But when they reached the building and the first reporter turned in his direction, he froze in place.
“It’s the empath! Mr. Davies! Davies!”
Like a coordinated wave, the reporters whirled on them.
“Mr. Davies, can you confirm you’re here to consult on Senator Hathaway’s death—”
“What can you tell us about this murder—”
“What do you think Hathaway would say if she knew you were on this case—”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Liam’s PR voice was perfectly calm, like they weren’t facing down a hostile crowd of microphones and cameras. “The SPD’s empath consultant will not be working—orcommenting—on this case. He’s here for other reasons. The SPD will release a statement shortly.”
A chill suddenly broke over Reece’s skin. He glanced over his shoulder, not sure what he was looking for.
“Mr. Davies.” A reporter used Reece’s moment of hesitation to force her way between Reece and Liam and jam a microphone in Reece’s face. “Empaths claim they can’t tolerate violence. Can you tell us how you’re involved in the investigation of such a brutal triple homicide?”
Reece’s stomach lurched. “I—”
A different reporter elbowed his way in. “This crime is shocking to even the most hardened among us—”
